The Stunt
by SCP-blank
Summary: Ianto Jones, Detective Inspector, after transfering from London to Cardiff encounters a lot more problems than he anticipated. Much of which were connected to the bold American stunt man, Captain Jack Harkness. AU
1. Chapter 1

AN: drabble length for now.

* * *

Detective Inspector Jones sighed. It was pouring outside, twice this day. Ianto barely managed to get out of his new shiny audi before getting drenched in this horrible weather.

Of course, it wasn't like London's weather was any different than Cardiff's. However Ianto hated that he was living now in his birth city or, at least, he hated the circumstances that made Ianto ask for a transfer. He did have a good, promising position there, as a Sergeant Detective and everything was running smoothly until...

Lisa.

Best not to think about his ex wife, Ianto sighed.

Beer, now that's an idea.

* * *

Jack Harkness, or Captain Harkness, as he still preferred to go by was running late. The car he had rented few days ago wouldn't start and he had received a message from one of the producers, Toshiko, who was also his long time friend, that because of time limit the shootings had to start few days earlier, giving Jack even less time to prepare.

You see, Jack used to be a Captain at U.S. Air force before he was... sacked, for the lack of better word, and now he worked as a stunt man.

A very popular, professional stunt man whose services were now required as the film he got hired to do crazy acts for was being shot in the area near Cardiff.

As soon as Jack had found out were the shooting will take place he made sure to scout out the area first. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail, after all. He used that praise as a motto and it rarely let him down.

Jack might have been depressed and slightly deranged but he wasn't suicidal. And the stunts he had to do were dangerous.

* * *

"You do know it's rude to stare." Ianto said absentmindedly at the man who was sitting on the nearby bar stool. He was quite handsome, had good looks that were usually seen in movie stars, and yet he was nursing his sorrows in a drink just like the rest of them mortals.

"It's not my fault if I can't help but to appreciate the beauty." Oh. American. Ianto stiffled a sigh. Of course only an American could act so blatantly unconcerned and flashy. Ianto might have been flattered that such a guy was flirting with him (he wasn't blind, after all) but this was Cardiff, not a big city like London and Ianto had just gotten divorced.

"Hmph." Was Ianto's only answer. He was hoping the man would just go away and leave him alone. It was his free time and if Ianto wanted he was entitled to gave a drink, or two or three without anyone bothering him.

"So, what happened to make such.. tasty man like yourself attempt to drink yourself to stupor?" Nope, The Flashy Captain America was still talking to him. Ianto raised his head from his glass and looked at his neighbour piercingly.

"Why? You a stalker?" Ianto said, for once not bothering to be correct with his grammar (being bilingual sucked big time). The American man threw his head back and laughed. He had a nice, rich laugh and it almost made Ianto smile.

"Do you want me to be one?" The man replied, his laid back smile showing he was only joking.

Ianto only raised his eyebrows and turned back to his drink.

"Another one, please." He asked the bar tender who nodded before reffiling his glass.

"Ah, you're gonna ignore me now, are you?" American man said and leaned in. "If you're embarrassed, we can do this elsewhere.. In private, prehaps?" Ianto blinked at his drink.

Was he? He was. The man was propositioning to him.

Now, had he been single (technically he was but just not ready to admit that to himself) Ianto might have agreed to this but the pain from Lisa hadn't gone away and this Flashman had just crossed a line.

Ianto turned to look at him, gazing straight into blue eyes. He smirked at the leering American who probably thought he had just got him a body to get down and dirty for the night with.  
Hm. Arrogant arse.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Ianto said calmly as he put the pay on the counter for the bartender to collect. "If I wanted to get HIV, I might agree." His voice was cutting as he straightened his jacket and walked out of the bar, leaving the American speechless.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N.: This chapter's slightly longer than the last one. More character's introduced, for instance, Gwen. Personally, I don't enjoy Gwen-bashing much. She just seems just as human and fallible as the rest of the characters. At the beginning, though, she's going to be a tough cookie and butt heads with Ianto.

Also. Ianto is older than in cannon -so as to be the similar age as Jack - somewhere in his late thirties.

* * *

"Where the hell is he?" Irritated oriental woman, Toshiko Sato, exclaimed in the privacy of her - office, for the lack of better word as it was just a working desk with a laptop and a plywood wall to simulate a separate room. Usually she was as cool as cucumber or as analytical as a Belgian when crisis like this occurred. But not today.

Today she had planned to start the shooting few of the most dangerous scenes in the movie she was supposed to produce. That was, however, difficult considering the fact there the stunt man she hired was three hours late.

"I'll be here early, Tosh... Don't worry, Tosh... You can count on me, Tosh..." She mimicked Jack's voice frustrated. He promised her there would not me any complications but, of course, Tosh should have anticipated otherwise. She knew Jack well, after all, and he was trouble magnet.

Just as Tosh was about to try and contact Jack via e-mail (As ex military man, Jack had quite a few annoying habits, one of which was to regularly change his mobile phone, for security reasons in his words. But that habit made it nearly impossible to contact Jack quickly.) her personal mobile rang.

"Hey, Tosh," Jack's voice greeted her, and Tosh felt relieved for a moment, reassured that nothing horrible happened to one of her friends. But then she heard the annoyed voice of her assistant, calling her name, saying that if they wanted to shoot the scene with the fall from the moving truck it had to be done now, preferably.

Tosh absolutely abhorred when her assistant used that word, and the posh idiot used it like she did make-up - in excess.

"You're two and a half hours late and all you can say for yourself is 'Hey, Tosh'?! There's better be a good explanation, or -"

"There is. That rental junk wouldn't start so I got a taxi. The driver thought it was funny when he left me in the middle of nowhere- I tried to call you but there was no connection until now..."

Tosh sighed. For a grown man who also was an ex aviator Jack sometimes could be so unreliable.

"Fine. Tell me where you are..."

* * *

"- I normally wouldn't trouble you, Mr. Jones."

"Inspector Jones, madam." Ianto interjected, mentally steering himself to stay calm, as he 'subtly' reminded of his occupation, even though it felt weird to say his new title. Since it would not do him any good to show disrespect to the divorce lawyer, Ianto had to bit his tongue so as not to inquire if the woman had saved any criminals recently.

You didn't talk back to Hartman if you cared for your well being, after all.

"Yes, yes... Ms Hallet contacted be a few days ago telling me you could sent someone collect your leftover belongings." Posh accent and tone of superiority, now that really irked his bones.

'What left over belongings?' Ianto wanted to ask Hartman. He had emptied his and Lisa's apartment from all his stuff. What did Lisa really want?

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible at the moment." He was rather irritated. Lisa wanted something, he knew, he lived with her for years and instead of contacting him she called Hartman, only causing him more problems.

"There's a case that acquires my complete attention," He lied in his most apologetic tone. "But thank you for calling."

Ianto ended the call immediately before Hartman, a shark of a solicitor, could get a chance to charge him more than he already paid her. He would be left bare footed with only his shirt and trousers if he allowed the woman 'to assist'.

As law enforcer, Ianto detested the majority of lawyers. Most of them were rather interested in the size of bank account of their clients than righting justice. They were one of the reasons why criminals walked away free, as long as they paid enough.

Yvonne Hartman, the definition of a career woman, was one of them. Hartman worked on various cases, divorces or no. She was hard to intimidate and usually got what her client wanted, so at the moment of weakness and anger he hired her. He wanted to make sure Lisa didn't get anything from him.

Now, though, Ianto was regretting that decision.

'I wonder what is it that Lisa wants...' he thought absentminded. 'It has to be something big.'

Lisa always was indirect and seldom spoke her mind. Ianto rarely knew where he stood with her. Their whole relationship was anticlimactic; to Ianto's marriage proposal Lisa answered 'I guess' (which should have alerted him right away that they really weren't there) and though she never fussed about anniversaries or holidays, her tendency to 'misplace' his things (especially case files) when he forgot to give her a gift revealed a different story.

Now, in hindsight, Ianto, as the ex, had all the right to foul-mouth Lisa, but that didn't change the fact that they once loved each other and it hurt.

Ianto mused all this as he walked to the Cardiff Police establishment. Had he still worked in London, Ianto would already be standing next to the Inspector as they investigated the crime scene. In Cardiff, on the other hand, few things happened, so he was able to take his pace and not rush to his new job.

If he had known what was in sight for him, Ianto would have cursed in Welsh and repeated the cliche his superior always employed when crisis occurred: famous last words.

Because for being the Capitol of Wales (the region perceived by those who were aware of it as a rather backwater province), Cardiff generated much more 'excitement' than people realized.

* * *

"Andy! Wait up!" Gwen Cooper, police constable, shouted to her colleague and best friend.

"What? Gwen, I don't have time... Swanson's sergeant is on leave- you heard what happened?- and so she told someone from constables to go over the files on Euphoria case to see if they missed something."

"The drug bust?" Gwen inquired, distracted from her intentions for a moment before gathering her wits. "I'll be really quick, Andy, it's important."

Andy sighed. "Fine." Gwen was never quick, he knew. "What was so important?"

The dark haired constable frowned as they passed other cubicles.

"Have you heard about the new Inspector?"

"Stuffy prick from London? Worked in Homicide?" Andy asked unnecessarily. "Yeah, I've heard 'bout him."

"Well, Anne said that he was-" Gwen paused. "-'promoted upon transfer' that's what she said. I mean, you don't think they would promote him just because it's Cardiff, not London... Would they?"

She sounded and looked distressed and frustrated, Andy knew her tells. They've been friends ever since the stolen lorry incident while they still attended academy (He still had nightmares about her clambering up onto the roof of his Peugeot, all just to shove her badge to the thief's face.) and he knew her well enough. Better than her fatty blob of a boyfriend did, in Andy's opinion.

Yet on occasion he still marveled at her naivety. Gwen expected the best from people and understood squat about Department's politics.

"Look, I'm sure it has nothing to do with it. Maybe he deserved it but they didn't have vacancy in London for Inspector?" Andy attempted to appease his friend but then he saw Swanson's scowl (anyone would have seen it from miles away) and straightened out.

"Got to go." Andy murmured and with amazing speed managed to avoid colliding with other policemen as he advanced to his boss.

'Yeah right.' Gwen thought to herself, observing the way Andy transformed from somewhat confident man into the perfect servant, happy to be at Swanson's beck and call.

"How is it fair that a Londoner is more qualified? Now we'll have to follow orders from some git who's no idea what he's doing!" Gwen was mumbling as she went back to her cubicle to finish some paperwork (How exciting!).

"Omph!"

Her rant was interrupted as she collided with someone else. Gwen looked up only to get startled as her gaze connected to cold, unfamiliar grey eyes. The tall man quircked one eyebrow at her.

"DI Ianto Jones, the git that has no idea what he is doing, and you are?"


	3. Chapter 3

A. N. : I'm going away for a few weeks to sit my IELTs exam, so there won't be any updates for a while but as I've got the basic plot line planned out, I doubt I would abandon this story.

Also - Owen. I might portray him by showing his worst qualities in excess, but I really think he's the capacity to be much more horrible. His usual antics are fairly mild and even amusing.

The following content is NOT meant to offend.

* * *

Dr. Owen Harper's daily routine consisted of going to his work shif at the morgue, performing autopsies of Cardiff's latest escapees from the tax paying part of the populace - the length of this usually depended whether he had a hangover or not - and rather anther envied his 'clients' for that.

After finishing his acquaintance with those blobs of fat and unrealized potentiawooden would usually head to a bar that took his fancy (or was the closest ) and either drink himself under the table or try to score one to improve his general scorehand. Bars and night clubs were especially fit for that, he could tell from all his experience.

Afterwards he would head to his cramped apartment and pass out.

Unless, of course, it was the weekend or a free day. Those he tended to forget after they ended - it started with vodka, though, and usually there was some pot involved... He was charged with public indecency more than trice as an aftermath of a wild weekend, and his neighbours avoided him like the plague.

Still. It was fun.

Of course, a stuffy, serious, responsible person would say such behavior for a doctor was simply incomprehensible. After all, how could Owen care for patents if he didn't give a shit about his personal health? How could he be a doctor with a personality of a rottweiler and manners of a relative yoto like to pretend doesn't exist?

He couldn't.

And usually when reprimanded for just that Owen would reply along the lines of: "my patients are dead. They're as communiative as furniture." That never failed to creep people out.

Actually, Owen would have never even imagined himself as a pathologist - he became a doctor to help the living, and that career choice was rather counterproductive.

Most of the days it was boring, siting there, filing things or cutting stuff. Sometimes there was not much he could cut at all.

So he deviced a game. He started experimenting which household appliances were suitable for performing autopsies: bread knives, electric knives, Bowie knives (Owen had no idea how exactly a Bowie knife had come to take up place in his kitchen utensil drawer. It was quite unnerving, when he thought of it.) , forks, sporks or spoons.

Spoons with sharpened edges were leading in that competition, shockingly enough.

Asides from entertaining himself by mutilating corpses, the majority of excitement he gained when the police came there. Cardiff, with its budget distributed rather unevenly by the local politicians and paper-pushers, gave little funding to Law enforcement. As a result, there was only one police station (large, seventies' type of buildng, looming in the center) and no morgues inside it.

Due to that fact, Owen and his other colleaguesa sometimes got involved in criminal investigations.

Personally, Owen enjoyed that also because he could have a chance to see his favorite bobby - Cooper. The spitfire of a woman had arrested him more times than he could count (In his defense, the majority of that time he was high. Try counting yourself when it seems like furniture wants to eat you.) and she still hasn't reciprocated to his flirtations (For the same reason. And also because Owen though PO Cooper's first name was Bucky, but the doctor wasn't aware of it.).

But he was close, Owen could feel it.

And just because his anticipation on that account might have been wrong and he wouldn't have won the Psych award for best prediction, didn't mean that his instincts were wrong.

And that was about to be proven once again.

* * *

"So, Jones. What do you think of our Cardiff branch?" Swanson's piercing gaze made Ianto gulp as they sipped coffee, made by the rude constable ("Cooper" - his sharp memory supplied.) as the beverage machine was out of commission.

Not that Ianto would drink anything from that vile thing, but still it was better to drink something that tasted like drain water than something with poison in it. (And that wasn't childish, at all.)

"Lots of things," He replied, trying to make something up. "You have very - ah- hands-on approach." _There are fewer people than in London. _"Officers seem to be rather confident-"_ Constables act insubordinately and rudely. _"- and capable." _I haven't met anyone with such lung capacity._

__"Is that so?" DCI inquired, her arms folded and legs crossed (a defensive position?) and pursed her lips, contemplatively.

She regarded Ianto for a while before chucking a brown case file at his direction. He managed to catch it before it slid off the sleek surface of his boss's desk.

"Then you would be glad to learn that there's a case just for you."


End file.
